


Read Me

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 05:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Library smut.





	Read Me

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Read Me by Alma

01 Apr 1998  
TITLE: Read Me  
AUTHOR: Alma  
RATING: NC-17 M/K slash  
DISCLAIMER: Characters are the property of Chris Carter and 1013  
ARCHIVE: MKRA, elsewhere by request  
Library smut per Anna's request, since I can deny her nothing. It's possible that Alex has been watching too many Peter Greenaway movies. When this takes place is anyone's guess, but Alex has two arms and that nice longish shiny haircut.

* * *

There were a lot of flights of stairs in this library, and the call number Mulder was looking for seemed to be located somewhere in its most arcane reaches. Pausing on the landing to ease his indignant calf muscles, he leaned against the aging metal banister and glanced again at the scrap of paper he held. It had arrived tucked into his morning newspaper, a generic bit ripped off some yellow legal pad, with three lines scrawled in blue ballpoint: his name, the name of this library, and a call number. And here he was, predictably following the trail. No choice, really. He stuffed the paper back into his pocket with a faint snarl of irritation, and got on with his climb. 

Five minutes later he was in the stacks, wandering through an orderly wilderness of dusty smelling shelving. He ran a finger along some of the faded book spines as he passed, wondering how many years, decades even, it had been since anyone had cracked their covers. It was utterly quiet on this floor of the library, deserted, vaguely warm and stuffy. He slid out of his jacket and folded it over one arm; there was no-one here to be alarmed by the sight of his gun, anyway.

The aisle he wanted was at the far side of the room, next to the wall. He stepped in, bent to locate the right shelf, followed the sequence of numbers from one peeling label to the next...nothing. Fuck. He should have asked the librarian, but he'd been in too grouchy a mood. He was beginning to straighten up when the unmistakable metal click of a firearm's safety catch collided with the silence, and he froze. Glanced sideways, saw the mouth of a gun, and behind it, Alex Krycek, lounging amiably against the corner of the aisle with a half smile. There was a silencer on the gun. Great. Alex Krycek: liar, killer, strict observer of library decorum.

"Put your hands on the shelf, Mulder, and keep them there." He obeyed, grimly, and held still as Krycek slipped into the aisle and neatly relieved him of his own gun. "You can stand up now, Mulder. Don't try anything dumb." Krycek was back at the end of the aisle again, giving him space. 

He straightened up, and looked at Krycek again, who looked back, that half smile still lurking at one corner of his mouth, making Mulder itch to punch him. "What, Krycek? What do you want?"

The half smile bloomed into a grin, and the muscles in Mulder's back tightened into seething knots of annoyance. "To give you some information, Mulder. Isn't that what you came here for?"

Two aisles down there was a little study room: table, chairs, a cart of books for reshelving, fluorescent light. Krycek guided Mulder through the doorway, gun not quite aimed at him, and shut the door behind them. Mulder waited, watching while the other man took one of the chairs and wedged it under the doorknob. Whatever was going on apparently required some extended privacy.

The door secured, Krycek moved past him and sat on the end of the table, then proceeded to unload Mulder's gun, followed, to Mulder's surprise, by his own. "Krycek? What the fuck are you doing?"

Krycek looked up from his handful of bullets. "Like I said, Mulder, I'm offering you some information. These are a distraction, so I'm getting them out of the way." He slid neatly off the table and walked around it to the back of the room, depositing both guns in one corner and the heap of bullets in the other, then returning to lean his ass against the table edge, again with that smile. Smug bastard. Mulder folded his arms and waited, refusing to ask again.

"Okay." Meeting Mulder's gaze, and suddenly Krycek's expression was more complex. Smug blended into nervous; something was up. Mulder could hear it in the other man's voice. "I've got seven pieces of information you want. Names, addresses, passwords, that kind of thing." Pause. "But I'm not going to say them out loud. You'll have to read them."

Mulder waited, but nothing more seemed forthcoming. No pieces of paper were offered, no pen was pulled out. He sighed the sigh of a man dealing with a recalcitrant small child, or a lunatic. "Read them from what, Krycek?"

Krycek's lips parted slightly, and Mulder expected him to speak, but instead the other man took a breath, swallowed, and tilted his head back and to the left, bringing a hand up to pull his collar down and away from his neck on the right. Words. Writing, going up the side of Krycek's neck. He couldn't read them from where he stood, but it looked like that same damn blue ballpoint ink. 

This was getting more surreal by the minute. And that didn't look like enough writing to account for seven pieces of information. Where...no, don't go there. Krycek was looking at him again, sleek eyebrows slightly raised, waiting. He had to say something. Okay. "Are you out of your mind?" That seemed appropriate. "What kind of game is this you're pulling?"

Krycek's brows dropped swiftly, and he glared at Mulder for a moment before his gaze softened again. He braced his hands against the table at his sides. His voice, when he spoke, was silky, "I think it's pretty obvious what I want. The only question is whether you want what I'm offering, enough to play the game." 

Mulder stood dumbly for a moment, aware of Krycek's eyes on him. Want what he's offering? Information. Skin. Seduction. Game. Aware of the writing, almost near enough to read. Aware of that body, sweet and dangerous, almost close enough to touch. What was he getting himself into? He searched for his anger, found it still there, keeping company with burning curiosity. Showing any vulnerability to Alex Krycek would be insane. Could he really do this?

He'd play it simple, then. Mulder realized he was still holding his folded suit jacket, and dropped it to the chair beside him. Jaw set, he stepped forward to stand face to face with Krycek, reached for the shirt collar to pull it down. The other man obligingly leaned his head back again. Tawny skin, small ear, sharp line of chin, jumping pulse. The writing appeared to be a Connecticut license plate number. Mulder gave silent, internal thanks for his eidetic memory. So useful at times like this.

After a beat or two, Krycek moved his head back again, green eyes on Mulder's face, but otherwise seemed to intend to wait, silent and passive. For lack of a better idea, Mulder let go of the collar and started to undo shirt buttons. He managed two of them before Krycek's hand came up to stop him.

Fuck, had he misunderstood? Game, indeed. He could feel his face starting to flush, and his voice cracked with irritation. "What?"

Krycek's half smile was back and threatening to become a smirk. Eyes of a cat with one paw on the canary. "I don't think that much of your technique so far, Mulder." And, added as Mulder's grip tightened on his shirt, "I'm not that easy."

Fine. So much for sanity. The motion came before the thought, and the mouth was sweet and hot under his own. Mulder kissed him hard enough to push his head back, pulling him forward by his shirt, biting and licking hard enough to bruise. Drew back for breath, and they were both panting, Krycek's...fuck it, Alex's hand on his loosening and letting go. So, then. He went back to working on the shirt buttons, and Alex didn't stop him. He heard a low laugh, ignored it.

Bare chest, smooth, gently muscled, quick rise and fall of breathing hard. He pushed Alex's shirt open further, found more writing curving around the left nipple. Leaned in close to read it, bracing his hands against the other man's shoulders. This close in Mulder could smell him, sweat and soap and skin. This writing was a Social Security number, or something that looked like one.

He trailed a glance down Alex's stomach and back up over his chest again; didn't see any more writing. Began to push the shirt back off of his shoulders, but Alex's arms came up and crossed, stopping him again. More payment due. Another hard kiss, and the arms dropped, fingers lacing together at Alex's waist. The implicit demand, the lure of Alex's skin, and Mulder's own rising arousal were enough to make him yield, and he ran his palm from throat down to waist, following it with his mouth, then moved back up to tongue the writing-framed nipple. Heard Alex moan above him, saw hands unclasp and move back to brace against the table edge, and Mulder yanked the shirt off and down until the fabric became a puddle on the table around them.

There was nothing on his arms, at least not in front. Mulder glanced at the top button of Alex's jeans, but assumed he'd be prevented if he tried to go there just yet. Plenty of his top half left to check, anyway. One more kiss, deep and demanding, and then he turned Alex around to face the table and found more writing tracing the underside of his right shoulderblade. A company name this time, a Rhode Island defense contractor. Three out of seven. Naked back hard and silky, and Mulder pressed himself up against the whole braced length of that body, hips and hardening swell of cock against the curve of Alex's ass. Pushed Alex's shiny head forward with one hand and bit the back of his neck, heard him gasp and felt his hips jerk backward in response. That should be enough to get his pants off.

Mulder's tie was beginning to annoy him. He stepped back to remove it, then decided to get rid of his shirt as well. He wasn't necessarily planning to strip down, but the shirt could go. Alex stayed put, still facing the table, waiting, and Mulder leaned into him again, wanting to feel that back against his bare chest. Ran his hands up Alex's front, cupping and stroking both nipples until he got a sigh and a shudder from the other man. Moved back again, lifted one of Alex's acquiescent arms and then the other, found more writing on the soft pale skin inside Alex's upper left arm. An email address and what must be a password. He pulled Alex around to face him again, went in for another kiss, bare chest to bare chest this time. Groin to groin, feeling Alex's erection pressing into his own. Four found. Three more. Mulder slid his hands down to cup Alex's ass through denim, pulled hips hard against his, got another moan into his mouth and realized he was smiling.

Mulder broke the kiss and moved his hands to Alex's waist, watching his face. Alex looked back and didn't try to stop him, and Mulder undid the button, pulled down the zipper. No underwear, and Alex's erection pushing sideways out of the open fly. He reached to free it, carefully, and heard Alex moan again at the touch. Visible writing actually on Alex's cock, along the underside of the shaft, but he'd save that one until he'd found the other two. He pushed the denim down over Alex's hips, down his thighs to bundle around his calves. Too much trouble to get the boots off, leave the jeans there. More writing halfway up the inside of Alex's right thigh -- he'd need to push Alex's knees a little further apart to read it. Alex braced against the table and let him do it. A D.C. street address.

One more to find, and if it wasn't on Alex's ass, then Mulder didn't understand the rules of this game after all. Alex cooperative, turning again under his hands, and Mulder looked to see the message half-hidden in the crease under Alex's left cheek. Pushed Alex to bend forward over the table, then had to lock his knees against a weakening surge of reaction to that sight. The message could wait. He ran his hands up the backs of Alex's thighs, up over the hot silky curves of his ass, midway up Alex's back, then down again letting his nails scrape lightly, white trails blushing to red on that pale golden skin, seeing the shiver of response.

The writing was a name, a Chinese man's name was what he'd guess. He pulled Alex up from the table and turned him yet again, bare ass leaning back against the scarred table wood this time. Alex panting and compliant, but avoiding Mulder's eyes now. Mulder put his hand flat against Alex's chest again and slid it down slowly, watching his face, until his hand encountered Alex's cock and closed around it. Crouched carefully to read. A telephone number, Palo Alto area code.

Got it, last one. If the information was what he wanted from Alex, then he'd gotten what he came for, and Alex had nothing left to offer. Game over. Mulder released his grip on Alex and rose, stepping away. Reached for his shirt. Heard a whimper and glanced back to see Alex's incredulous and stricken face, felt the warm flush of a cruelty acted upon. An impulse rose in him to raise the stakes, and he threw it at Alex, low voiced. "Unless you think you have something else I might want?"

He watched the other man flush, shamed, then decide to go for brazen. Naked, leaning back against the table, jeans tangled around his ankles, Alex pointedly dropped his gaze to Mulder's erection, obvious even through his suit pants, then looked back up to return the challenge. "Don't I?"

Desire went through Mulder like a wave of heat, slamming up against the equally strong urge to twist the knife. The pleasure of revenge warred with the lure of that body, that tainted and fascinating mind. A solution came to him like a blessing, and he responded, feeling that half smile pull harshly at his own face: "I couldn't say, Krycek, but I don't think too much of your technique so far." He let the shirt fall again, crossed his arms over his bare chest, and waited, watching Alex understand.

A deep breath, and Alex pushed forward off the table, bent to pull off boots and socks, freed himself from the hobble of his jeans. Naked, he stepped toward Mulder, reached out and ran hands up the outsides of Mulder's folded arms and down again, urging them to drop open. Mulder obliged, keeping his expression dispassionate. Alex moved closer, leaned in to kiss him, mouth soft, careful and insistent.

He fought to withhold his response: a moment, two, then gave up, open mouthed and hungry, slid arms around Alex's sleek sides and kissed back hard. He ran his hands down Alex's naked back, cupped his ass again, dug his fingers in, stroking, lifting. Alex's mouth was dizzyingly seductive, his hands up on the back of Mulder's neck, fingers tangled in Mulder's hair.

Mulder pulled back from the kiss and got a brief, lash-veiled look from Alex before the other man dropped his head, bringing his mouth to the skin of Mulder's shoulder. Licks and soft bites, sending shivers along his spine, and Alex slid lower, kissing nipple, sternum, ribs, navel, tongue blazing a warm wet trail while his hands feathered down Mulder's sides. Down, kneeling on linoleum, reaching for Mulder's belt buckle, cheek nuzzling against Mulder's stomach, hair a brush of mahogany silk against bare skin.

Mulder put his hands on Alex's shoulders, as much a ploy for balance as a caress, and Alex lowered his head further, rubbing his face against the straining ridge of Mulder's still-clothed groin. Then sat back, reaching to undo Mulder's belt, his zipper, easing trousers and boxers down together over Mulder's hips. Glanced up at Mulder, eyes dark, indecipherable, breathing quickened. Head bending again and Mulder gasped, his eyes slamming shut as liquid heat engulfed the head of his achingly hard cock.

There was a hand on his hip, holding him lightly, another nudging up between his thighs to cup his balls. Mulder could feel the muscles move under his hands, still clamped to Alex's shoulders, with the small part of his awareness not yet welded helplessly to the motion of Alex's tongue, the burning satin of the roof of Alex's mouth as he bumped against it, the occasional quick and startling scrape of tooth.

The fingers left his balls and trailed up to wrap around his cock, riding its next slow plunge into Alex's mouth, then slid back down, brushing past scrotum and perineum to probe wetly for the dry crease of his anus. Mulder could hear himself gasping, cock leaping and throbbing as Alex's finger pushed in slightly, gentle pressure against that tight private ring. Alex's tongue plowed up the underside of his cock, hard, once, twice, and he felt himself gathered, convulsing, and shattered, a long, pulsing blast of heat and light and raw pleasure tumbling him free of everything but his desperately savage grip on Alex's skin.

The pound of his heart and the ragged breath in his lungs ushered him back into solidity, and Mulder opened his eyes to see Alex sitting back on his heels again, lashes down, face shuttered, wiping a damp chin with one hand. He eased what must have been a bruising hold on Alex's shoulders, and the other man looked up, pinning him with eyes gone suddenly feral, the mysterious, cooperative allure utterly replaced by a sharp glow of anger and desire. Mulder froze, shocked, watched Alex's lip curve into a snarl, and toppled without resistance when the arm swept around to hit him behind the knees, dumping him into Alex's naked grasp like a momentarily loose-stringed puppet.

Alarmed, hampered and clumsy with the tangle of his suit pants, he tried to cooperate as Alex, silent and ominous, shoved his legs sideways and then tugged hard on his hips until he slid and fell backward to lie on the floor. The linoleum was chilly and smelled uncomfortably of ammonia, but then Alex landed on top of him, warm weight and hard hands pinning his wrists, harsh kiss plundering his mouth under a curtain of brown hair, and Mulder forgot the floor.

Alex's hips were pushing down against him, one knee between Mulder's legs, cock an insistent, surging hardness against his belly. He'd lost his place in this game somehow, gone from courted adversary to stunned quarry in one lightning shift. Apparently there would be no further round of challenges proffered and met, no scene in which he might choose to torment Alex briefly with indifference before repaying that transcendent blowjob with a generous demonstration of his own sexual skills. Only the choice of submissive cooperation over struggle, and since he feared that Alex might react to struggle by simply releasing him and leaving, submission it was. So be it.

He'd been responding somewhat dazedly to the depredations of Alex's tongue in his mouth; now he tried to return the kiss more actively, curling his fingers around to stroke the hands that held his wrists, deliberately rocking his hips against Alex's erection. Alex stilled with a growl, his face lifting slightly from Mulder's, then rolled off onto his side, pulling Mulder's left hand over and pushing the palm up to Mulder's face. "Lick it. Wet."

Complying with Alex's command, Mulder felt his pulse surge, his own arousal beginning to revive with the sensation of his own tongue on the flat of his hand. He wetted it thoroughly and looked at Alex, who looked back impassively while he dragged Mulder's hand down between their bodies until Mulder felt Alex's cock pushing hard and slick into his imprisoned palm. He curled his fingers around the shaft, feeling soft skin, heat and his own saliva, and Alex's mouth came down on his again, Alex's grip still hard on his wrist and Alex's hips moving, thrusting, cock sliding with satin roughness, again and again into Mulder's hand.

This sex had its own warped allure. Sordid, maybe, all this weirdly enforced passivity, grappling on faded linoleum under fluorescent light, but strangely sweet, too, that Alex seemed to want nothing more than to simply fuck his hand while kissing him. Cautious arousal blended with his surprise, mixed with the remnants of alarm and anger, and dissolved sideways leaving Mulder half melted into some kind of erotic tenderness, feeling somehow more naked than before. He moaned purposefully under Alex's kiss, moving his own hips in encouragement, and felt the thrusts falter briefly and then speed up. He offered sounds, wriggling, a tightened grip, and felt Alex's gasp, the swell and pulse of his cock. He purred and growled, tangling his tongue with Alex's, kissing back as hard as he could, and was rewarded with a harsh moan, three hard thrusts and a hot pulse of wetness into his hand as Alex shuddered against him.

They lay heaped on the floor for a few long moments, Alex's hand on Mulder's hand on Alex's softening cock, Alex's face hidden in Mulder's neck. A deep breath, finally, and Alex let go of him, rolled away and unceremoniously stood, gathering his clothes. 

Still on the floor, Mulder arched his back to pull his pants back up, sat up and slid himself over to lean against the wall and watch Alex, who by now was nearly dressed, bending to attend to socks and boots, expressionless. No eye contact, and Mulder sat watching, filled with uncertainty, wistfulness and a deeply problematic affection, as Alex finished dressing and retrieved the guns and ammunition from the back of the room. Moved the chair, still draped with Mulder's shirt, jacket and tie. Put Mulder's gun down on top of the pile of clothing, added the bullets. Opened the door and slipped out, closing it behind him without looking back.

Mulder pulled his knees up and sat for a few moments. Deep breath, another. Okay. Life. He began to reach for his gun, intending to reload, and realized his left hand was still wet with Alex's semen. Wiped it against his stomach, for lack of anything better. Looked at his palm, and saw the smeared stain of blue ballpoint ink.

*** End ***


End file.
